Bad Blow Job
by SmokeMyCancer
Summary: Mickey's bedroom door swings open because Mickey is a fucking idiot who forgot to lock up. Ian/Mick. Caught red handed.


Moaning into Mickey's mouth, Ian presses himself harder into the body beneath him. Grinds his hips against his partner's. His tongue snakes over Mickey's upper lip, drives in and laps. He grips Mickey's shirt, pushes Mickey down into the mattress. Never lifting his face from Mickey's, breathing heavily through his nose, Ian trails his hands down Mickey's chest and stomach. Fights with Mickey's belt buckle.

Torn between swallowing Ian's face or pushing the redhead off of him, Mickey settles for just letting the kiss happen. Maybe it fucking needs to happen. Mickey doesn't know why this situation has gotten so out of control. But it has. The two of them are spiraling fast into uncharted territory. Sure Ian had his fling with Kash and was seeing that old doctor, but Mickey is pretty sure Ian has just about as much as experience in an actual relationship as himself. Which is none. And this, what they have, had once not been a relationship, but maybe it is turning into one. Mickey doesn't how he feels about that. But it's kind of happening in front of his face and he thinks maybe it's too late to stop it. Maybe he doesn't want to.

So long as no one finds out, everything might be okay. This might actually be okay.

A wet and erratic breathing escapes Mickey when Ian breaks the kiss to yank Mickey's pants down. He curses and throws his head back into his pillow. Chews his bottom lip and droops his eyes. Mickey can still taste Ian in his mouth. And Mickey's thinking on that when Ian drops to his knees at the same time he pulls Mickey's ankles. Pulls Mickey down a little farther on the bed. Just before tugging Mickey's boxers off and hastily licking Mickey's shaft.

"Damn," Mickey gasps out, bucking his hips. He bunches his hands up in the unmade sheets and lifts his head back up to watch Ian at work. Without putting much thought in it, Mickey reaches down with one hand and holds to the back of Ian's neck. There is no roughness this time.

Ian sucks Mickey down, tight, tongue flat, hand feeling up Mickey's sack. And it's almost too much. Mickey almost loses it. Gritting his teeth, Mickey pushes his heels into the railing of his bed and curls up his toes. Tries to think up anything to keep from cuming. Because this feels amazing and he wants it to last.

His hand on Ian's neck tucks under his lover's shirt and Mickey rubs his fingers up and down an inch of Ian's spine. Ian moans and pushes up into the touch. Takes Mickey in faster, sloppier. Ian brings up the hand he'd been using on himself and rubs Mickey's dick with while focusing on Mickey's head. Fingers now wet, he slips one into Mickey and smiles as he sucks him down again.

"Jesus," Mickey sputters out, eyes wide as his ass contracts around Ian's probing hand. "You're fucking amazing," he breathes out and doesn't mean to. But what's done is done. Ian's heard it and Mickey can't take it back.

Again he's not sure if he wants to.

This much pressure on Mickey's backside is starting to sting, though. At first the pain was a welcomed balance to everything else. But now Mickey winces and groans out in pain, halting Ian's tactics.

Ian pulls off of Mickey with a wet pop. Mickey's cock bounces there for a second, throbbing for more attention. "You okay?" Ian asks, brows knitting with alert concern.

Mickey, propps up on his elbows, looks down at Ian awkwardly and says, "Yeah just. . .this bullet wound."

Ian nods. "You want to stop?" he asks. "Or uh," he looks off to the side, then back a Mickey, a grin on his face, "can you stand up?"

A smile plays on Mickey's lips as his eyes trail over Ian's flushed face and swollen mouth. His brown eyes lidden with as much lust as Mickey's blue ones. "I think I'll manage," Mickey snorts and tells Ian. "Like hell we're stopping," he chuckles, tongue darting out, tracing the side of his mouth, and curling back in.

The hand that had been in Mickey gingerly touches Mickey's knee as Ian holds the gaze. Soft smile on his lips. And Ian parts his mouth, pearly whites peeking through. Looking up at Mickey with that fucking stare that crushes Mickey's resolve. Ready to say something, Ian rubs a circle with his calloused thumb. Mickey holds his breath.

And then Mickey's bedroom door swings open because Mickey is a fucking idiot who forgot to lock up.

Both boys freeze, heads turning fast in the direction, eyes saucered out. What takes place in a matter of seconds is the longest period of Mickey's life. Terry Milkovich backs into the room, arms chucked full of random items from all over the house. All of them Mickey's. The thought registers fast with Mickey that his father is cleaning, which means Terry is already in a foul mood. In a split, Terry turns and dumps all of the stuff on Mickey's floor. His aging face is pussed up and sweaty. He isn't looking at the couple yet. With the back of his wrist, Terry wipes his forehead and breathes out a heavy sigh. He lifts his frowning face finally as he starts saying, "You fucking brats need to keep your junk out of my living room." But somewhere midway through that sentence, Terry's face turned into a mask of shocked confusion. "What in the hell," he breathes, eyes darting from Ian kneeling in the floor, pants unzipped, to Mickey laying pantless on the bed, legs spread before Ian's panicked face. To Ian's hand still resting on Mickey's bruised knee.

"Fuck!" Mickey snaps out of his daze, breathes and kicks Ian backward. Sits up fast and almost rips his stitches in the process of pulling his pants back on. Meanwhile, Ian is finally scrambling to his feet and backing toward the opened bathroom. Mickey gets his jeans up but doesn't buckle his belt. Hands out at his dad's now disgusted face, Mickey shakes his head and says dumbly, "Don't freak. Please don't freak." Like a deer in headlights. At a loss. He asks this of his father, knowing damn well that Terry has never been a calm, collected parent. Knowing damn well there is no explaining this situation away.

Terry doesn't say anything to Mickey. Just slowly tilts his head in Ian's direction. Gives the petrified Gallagher his undivided attention. And before Mickey has time to say another word, Terry bares his teeth and guns for Ian.

Ian screams something like, "Oh shit!" but it's drowned out by Mickey, "Run for it, Gallagher!"

And where the hell can Ian run being as he's corner? To the bathroom is his only option. He makes it in and manages to slam and lock the door in Terry's face. With only a blink to spare.

Mickey father is unperturbed by this. His lifts his leg and readies to kick the door down.

"Dad! Leave him out of it!" Mickey bellows at the top of his lungs, face red from fear, anger, and exertion. He reaches out and grabs for Terry's shirt collar. But Terry bucks like a wild horse, throws Mickey onto his hurt ass. Mickey screams out and grabs his backside. He lays back completely, unable to move. Damn that old bitch for shooting him. If not for this, Mickey might have gained control in enough time to move, roll away, anything. Instead, Mickey's laying there, rocking in pain and hissing through his teeth, cursing uncontrollably. And Terry's stopped kicking at the door, is now bringing his foot down on his son's chest with just enough pressure to hold Mickey down.

"Are you a fucking faggat, Mickey?" Terry demands, already aware of the answer. His eyes are crazed, his mouth gaped as he bellows down at Mickey, speckles of spit hitting his son's face.

Mickey opens his eyes and tries to breath. The weight on his chest isn't painful, but the wind had already been briefly knock out of him, plus the pain is intensifying. His wounded ass cheek feel wet and Mickey just knows he's ripped the wound open. His eyes dart behind his father to the now cracked open bathroom door. He meets Ian's petrified eyes.

"Answer me!" Terry screams, veins bulging in his neck. "I raised you better than this!" he goes on, full of shit.

"Fuck you!" Mickey yells back, tearing his eyes away from Ian. "Yeah!" He continues, grabbing for his dad's ankle, trying to get Terry off of him before this gets worse. He and Terry have only come to blows once, back when Mickey was twelve and mouthed off, trying to justify his hanging out with a nigger. As his father had so eloquently put it. "I'm queer as shit, dad!" Mickey snaps. If he can get Terry mad enough to kick him, Mickey will have, hopefully, enough time to roll away. Not only that, but Terry will be too focused on Mickey; Ian might just be able to run out. Mickey prays that Ian will take the opportunity, that the dickhead won't stick around and try to play hero. So Mickey bares his teeth and sneers up at his father, saying, "Know what's worse? You did such a piss poor job raising me that," he smiles, unable to stop the laughter that follows, "I'm the one taking up the ass!"

Now, Mickey doesn't see anything wrong with liking to bottom. He doesn't. He used to; used to think the desire made him less of a man. But then Ian came along and Mickey eventually said fuck it. The sex was too god damned good to feel ashamed.

Too bad that Terry doesn't waste time lifting his foot. The man simply kicks his toes up and checks Mickey hard on the chin. Not having expected the move to go down this way, Mickey nearly bites through his tongue as mouth snaps shut and his head hits the floor.

"Get off of him!" Ian bark, rushing out of the bathroom finally.

At first, Mickey almost misses the blows shared between his father and the boy who he's starting to think he loves. But what does Mickey know about fucking love? Absolutely nothing. It's a feeling he's not familiar with unless it involves Mandy. But that's a different love. He has to love Mandy because she's his twin sister who's the only member of his family to ever be there when Mickey needs it.

Mickey doesn't have to love Ian. But he must. God he does. And Mickey knows this as he watches Ian hand jab Terry Milkovich's neck, knocking the middle aged man clean against the dresser. While Terry hacks and stumbles, knocking things over and trying to regain his footing, Ian spits a mouth full of blood and squats down near Mickey. He yanks Mickey up and wraps an arm around Mickey's waist. Ian grabs Mickey chin and looks grave. "This is going to suck big time," he says just before hurling the both of them out of Mickey's open window. Mickey doesn't have time to protest.

They crash, not far down, but on top of shattered glass and blinds and the ripped up screen. Both call out in pain, Ian less than Mickey. Ian's the one to recover quick. Mickey's still laying there, cut up bad but his ass gushing blood.

"Jesus christ, Ian!" Mickey curses, unable to move with making the glass dig into him further. Everything hurts.

"I'm sorry! I had to!" Ian says, picking Mickey up, glass stuck all in his bleeding arms and hands. Even in his face.

"You're dead, Gallagher!" Terry barks out the window, still standing inside, hands on the sill, ready to go after then. He backs away disappears.

His father is going for the door, and this is what Mickey tells Ian just before the front door bangs open.

No way can Mickey run, and Ian's well aware. No way can Ian carry Mickey, and this is obvious. So they run as best they can, and duck into hiding in the neighbor's shed before Terry come into sight. Ian falls to his ass, Mickey literally falling down on top of him knees first.

Mickey groans in pain, forehead pressed against Ian's neck. "This fucking hurts," he growls lowly. "My ass is gonna fall the fuck off, shit!" he complains, fisting the grass and gravel around them until his knuckles hurt.

"Shh!" Ian hisses, bunching up his face and clamping a bloody hand over Mickey's mouth.

Mickey bites down hard on Ian's hand to suppress screaming in pain as Terry soars by, missing sight of them completely. Ian's aware of the reason. And he might not like it but lets it happen. His knees go up by Mickey's sides to hold Mickey up, and unconsciously, Ian reaches out with his free hand to hold the crook of Mickey's sweaty neck. Ian cranes his neck to look for Terry, and Mickey's head falls against his shoulder. They stay there, breathing and waiting. For at least ten minutes. Until Ian sees Terry again and watches the man storm back into his house. By then, Mickey has let go of Ian's hand and lifted his head, kneeling on his knees between Ian's arched legs, and losing blood by the minute. Ian hand, rested now on Mickey's chest, taps Mickey until the Milkovich bot looks at Ian instead of his front door.

"You think we can make it?" Ian whispers, breath ghosting Mickey's lips.

Mickey furrows his brow and licks his lips. "Make it where?" he asks, fed up and wishing his backside would quit aching terribly. "We might as well just hang ourselves," he gripes, feeling negative and helpless. Terry will kill them both. Ian first. Actually, he probably won't kill Mickey. Instead, he'll likely try and beat the fag out of his oldest son. Will throw him out or some shit. Disown him. Who knows. But it will be awful.

"Oh shut up," Ian breathes, rolling his eyes. "My family won't let your dad-" he tries saying more, but Mickey huffs a laugh in his face.

"Get real, Ian!" Mickey bitches in a hushed voice. "Maybe they'll save your ass a skinning, but I'm a dead mother fucker," he says. "Gallaghers hate my family enough as it is," he continues. "This'll just knock me further down your cunt sister's shit list!" Mickey spits.

"Well I _don't_ hate you," Ian says. "And I won't give Fiona a choice," and he says this with so much conviction that Mickey shuts up and just stares at him in wonder. "Now," Ian starts standing up, pulling Mickey with him, "come on before your dad starts a man hunt."

* * *

**NOTE:** Terry catches Mickey and Ian in a compromising situation? This probably won't be what happens in 3:06, but one can hope. Hope you guys enjoyed it!


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